


Whiskey Dick

by cybernya



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of other Statesmen, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Sex, Teasing, Whiskey-based dick jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 17:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybernya/pseuds/cybernya
Summary: Why has no one asked if Whiskey suffered from whiskey dick? It is part of his namesake, after all…





	Whiskey Dick

“Does Whiskey get whiskey dick?” **  
**

It started as an honest question, really. You were tipsy and the question seemed to roll off your tongue to Ginger, who, immediately, burst into laughter.

“No one has ever asked that question, honey,” she laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think anyone wants the answer, either.”

“Maybe we should just call him ‘Dick’ from now on, and see if he gets it,” you smirked, taking a sip of your beer.

The two of you laughed so hard, Ginger had to take her glasses off to wipe at tears. It didn’t help you were attracted to Whiskey, so thinking about his dick and what it does when he was drunk seemed like a normal thing to you.

When was the last time you had sex?

 

The next morning, you bumped right into Tequila, who was sunshine in your morning like aways.

“Well good morning to you too!” he laughed, looking down at you. Before you could even begin to apologize for quite literally running into him, the agent bent down with a mischievous smile. “Ginger told me you were curious about Whiskey and his whiskey dick --”

“What’s that now, about Whiskey and his dick?”

The two of you spun around to find Agent Whiskey leaning against the wall, a smirk on his face.

Now or never, right?

“I was wondering if you got whiskey dick, seeing as it’s part of your namesake and all,” you asked, shrugging your shoulders.

Tequila, standing next to you, burst out into a fit of laughter at the look of irritation on Whiskey’s face.

“That’s a yes --” you laughed, Tequila nudging your side in agreement, “I guess I should call you Dick now, yeah? Or would you prefer your full name --”

“Whiskey dick is not a problem for this Whiskey,” the agent snarled, opening his mouth to say something else before stomping off.

“Bye, Dick!” you laughed, waving as he stomped down the hallway. Whiskey simply stuck a middle finger up at you, which caused Tequila to laugh.

“That really solidifies that the answer is yes,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t wind him up too much, though - can’t risk him throwin’ our dear princess out the window.”

“Just because I played a princess on a mission doesn’t mean I am one,” you groaned, waving Tequila off. “And he wouldn’t. Would he?”

The look Tequila gave you said yes.

 

You didn’t see Whiskey for the rest of the day, which only meant the next morning you were on a mission to find that man.

“Has anyone seen Dick?” you asked, wandering the hallway with a stack of files. “Dick?”

“Since when did we have a Dick working here, sweetheart?” Champ laughed as he passed you on the way to his office.

“Well, that’d be from whenever Agent Whiskey was brought in, sir…” you laughed, incredibly nervous about your boss catching onto your joke.

He looked at you for a moment, head tilted, before offering you a toothy smile. “Having problems with Whiskey Dick, then?”

You paled slightly and shook your head. “Just trying to get him to finish his paperwork, sir.”

“Carry on, sweetheart. I’ll let Dick know that you’re looking for him if I happen to see him,” Champ chuckled, continue his walk to his office.

The moment Champ was out of sight, you let out a sigh of relief.

 

The tell-tale sound of boots stomping against the floor, however, told you that your relief was short lived. You whipped your head around only to find a very angry Whiskey stomping towards you, eyes narrowed. He was coming from the direction that Champ, not just a few moments ago, had walked.

“Dick! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you an--”

Whiskey shoved you against the wall, causing you to drop your files.

“Listen, princess,” he hissed, “I don’t know what you’re goin’ about with all this dick business, but if you’re really that curious, I could just show you myself.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you were living one of the many dreams you had with the agent. His hands felt large on your shoulders and you couldn’t shake the thought of saying yes at that very moment.

“I just figured I should call you by your proper name, that’s all,” you shrugged, hoping you’d exude confidence with your answer.

Whiskey was not pleased. He narrowed his eyes for a moment before letting go; how could you, the mild-mannered princess of Statesman, be the one pulling this off? Without a word he walked off, leaving you with your pile of files.

“Hey! These are your files, you know! Dick? -- Don’t just -- Dick!” you called as he walked back towards Champ’s office, another middle finger in the air.

 

“Did you put her up to this?” Whiskey grunted, wagging a finger at Tequila. Tequila knew that Whiskey had a slight crush on you - and it was also why Whiskey blamed him.

Tequila, who was sitting across the table, shook his head. Champ, at the head of the table, let out a solid chuckle.

“Let’s not focus too much on our whiskey dick issue, boys. I’m still waiting on some of your paperwork. Keep yourselves on track. Tequila, that means you too. I know you’ve been eyeing that new weapons expert, but you have your own work to take care of,” Champ explained, leaning back in his chair.

Both men groaned internally before excusing themselves back to work. They had a major mission wrap up a few days prior and Champ was getting impatient about the paperwork.

It also meant that Whiskey had to see you again and he was afraid of what would come out of your mouth next.

 

Lucky for him, you were too pissed off about the state of your recently-dropped files to even say something. All you did was flutter around your office, pulling together files and fishing through the drawer of your desk for that elusive flash drive you ‘desperately’ needed.

In reality, you were too flustered, thinking about the way his hands felt on your shoulder and the hint of lust glimmering in his eyes. (You thought it was there, anyway.)

By the time his file was put back together. Whiskey had been sitting in silence, practically stewing over the fact that Tequila was not the one who put you up to this dick nonsense. Was it Bourbon, then? Vodka? No, you hardly spent any time with them. The Statesman huffed as you finally plopped the folder in front of him, arms crossed over your chest.

“That all?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yes, Dick, that’s all,” you hummed, spinning on your heels to go dig through a filing cabinet.

He huffed and found his way out of the office, muttering on about stupid princesses and paperwork.

 

The teasing continued for the next two weeks; Ginger had found Whiskey fuming after you had called him ‘Dick’ in front of Rum and a few other field agents. Tequila even managed to get a recording of a new techie calling him Dick while passing in the hallway. It seemed all of Statesman was in on the joke and you couldn’t be happier with the result.

Whiskey even tried being nicer to you, by buying you coffee and even getting his undercover reflection in on time, in an effort to get the nickname to stop. His actions were sweet, really. He had gone from sour to… well, less-sour as the nickname caught on, but you also realized that maybe you wanted to act on things. You also thought of the lust that lingered in his eyes, but shook it off quickly. He was a flirt, after all. You were just playing the game at a different angle.

He wanted to know why you, of all people - the cute, occasionally undercover agent - were teasing him in this way.

It was unbearable, really, hearing you say the word ‘dick’ all the time.

 

Most of the Statesman family decided to make the Cadillac Ranch their stomping ground, and it was no surprise to find most field and support agents drinking on a Friday night. You enjoyed this weekly ritual, finding it calming after a stressful week of organizing - and dealing with your feelings toward Whiskey.

Tequila had sauntered off to the other end of the bar before you could ask for any kind of help - and right as Whiskey had shown up. You immediately downed your first beer at the sight of the man, quickly ordering a second.

“Well isn’t it Statesman’s favorite princess,” he chuckled, ordering a drink for himself while leaning against the bartop.

“Hello, Dick. Or should I use your full name, Whiskey Dick, tonight?” you snickered, taking a sip of your new beer as you motioned to his own drink.

“I think you’re jumping the gun,” he laughed, shaking his head. You narrowed your eyes for a moment before he continued.  “See, the thing about being Whiskey,” he laughed again, leaning in, “is that you never suffer from your namesake.”

“Is that so?” You laughed, a bit nervous with how close Whiskey was leaning towards you.

“That’s so, princess.”

 

Down at the other end of the bar, Tequila was smirking.

“Do you think they’ll finally get together?” Sprite, the agent in charge of weapons R&D, asked.

Tequila had to hold back a laugh as he looked at her. “I sure hope so, darlin’.”

Whiskey managed to get you on the dance floor, which was no different from when you were at the Cadillac Ranch, but he made sure you never left his side. His hands found your hips for a moment and you swore you could’ve died right there.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were a dancer,” he teased, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“You’ve seen me here before, Whiskey --” you huffed as the two of you started to dance together.

A smile broke out on Whiskey’s face as he realized you dropped the Dick nickname. “So are you finally starting to believe me?”

“Not quite,” you hummed, hoping he wouldn’t catch your hesitation as he spun you around.

 

“So, who wants to put money on those two finally getting their shit together?” Rum laughed as he approached Sprite and Tequila, ordering a beer for himself.

“I was thinkin’ we bribe the bartender and lock them in a bathroom together so they can finally settle the whole dick issue,” Vodka laughed, tossing back a shot.

“No, no, we let them do it themselves. I think they’re gettin’ there, anyway,” Bourbon said, shaking her head.

Ginger nodded in agreement as she slid in next to Sprite, the small group of Statesmen turning to watch the pair on the dancefloor.

“I think poor Whiskey was going to explode if he had to hear her say ‘dick’ one more time. That boy’s got it bad,” Tequila added, wrapping an arm around Sprite’s shoulder.

“And you’ve known about this for how long, now?” Ginger asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was not ‘bout to meddle in that --” Tequila objected, causing Sprite to laugh.

“I think they’ll manage to go home together tonight. She’s got it bad herself, but..” Sprite added.

“So you’re saying those two have liked each other long enough that - if we just locked them in a closet weeks ago - this whole dick issue would’ve been avoidable!” Vodka interrupted, looking rather upset. “Whiskey beat the shit out of me during these last few days because of how irritated he was! Thanks!”

Ginger reached out to pat his hand, shaking her head. “I think that’s normal, honey.”

Laughter broke out between the agents as they returned to discussing bets and each other.

 

“So, princess,” Whiskey asked as he pulled you close, the music slowing slightly, “who put you up to calling me Dick?”

“No one,” you replied, trying to keep your heart rate in check. The hand at the small of your back was distracting and you swear you saw Sprite give you a thumbs up from the other end of the room.

Neither of you had returned to the bar for drinks since he pulled you to the dance floor, but you didn’t mind. Whiskey’s touch was enough to keep your face flushed.

“Really? I could’ve thought that maybe one of those assholes, like Rum or Bourbon, would’ve,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow.

You swallowed and shook your head as the two of you danced; “Nope. Just me.”

Whiskey let out a laugh and shook his head - so much for the mild-mannered princess everyone thought you were. It made you all the more attractive, really.

“Say, I’m gettin’ a bit dizzy here. Why don’t we…”

You glanced up towards Whiskey and notice he’s got the same look in his eyes he had back in the hallway from two weeks ago. You swallow thickly as he spins you before leading you off the floor.

Ginger, upon seeing the two of moving away from the dance floor, nudged Sprite, who in turn, nudged Tequila. He grinned, shaking his head as he looked from Ginger to Sprite.

“Thank god,” he sighed, “pay up, Vodka.”

“Where are we -- ?” You asked as Whiskey pulled you from the floor, past the bar, and out the doors of the establishment. Your heart leapt in your chest and you felt Whiskey grab your hand a bit tighter.

 

You back was soon pressed up against the cool metal of Whiskey’s Bronco, his lips pressing a hungry kiss to yours. Your hands gripped at his shirt, a soft whine escaping you as he deepened the kiss.

This was way better than any of the dreams you had.

Whiskey smiled at the noise you made and pressed himself against you, the bulge in his pants the answer to the question you asked yourself (and had been asking him.) He chuckled at the way you gasped, his hands cupping your cheeks as he leaned in to kiss you once again. His knee nudged your thighs apart, allowing you to grind against him as you bit at his lower lip.

“How’s that for an answer, princess?” he chuckled, voice lower than you imagined it to be. His hand brushed your hair back and you nodded, one hand at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you, the other grabbing his hat.

Your lips crashed together once again and Whiskey grinned, his hands moving from your cheeks down to your hips.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” you murmured as you pulled apart, tossing the hat into his Bronco.

“Say, why don’t we move this to somewhere we won’t be watched,” he smirked, pressing his forehead to yours.

Your stomach dropped for a moment as you panicked, before realizing he was teasing you. Whiskey peppered your face with kisses, moving you off the Bronco he pulls around to the passenger side, all while his hands never leave you.

“Up you go,” he laughed, pulling away to open the door for you.

You clambered into the Bronco quickly, brain rattled as you try and collect yourself. No matter how much you wanted to suck him off right then and there, safety came first. Whiskey jogged around to the driver’s side of the vehicle and climbed in, a smile plastered to his face. He turned to you, smiling, as he noticed how kissed-out you looked; lips puffy and cheeks rosy. It was a sight he had been dying to see for himself, rather than the dreams you plagued.

The two of you were out of the parking lot in a flash, engine roaring as he sped towards his apartment. Your hand danced along his thigh, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you told yourself not to go any higher after he jerked the wheel a few too many times for comfort.

 

By the time you reached Whiskey’s place, he was practically dying to get his hands back on you again. He helped you down from the truck with a grin, throwing you over his shoulder the moment both feet hit the ground. You giggled, taking the opportunity to hold yourself up against his shoulder and suck an angry hickey or two into his neck.

“Uh-uh, that’s my job princess,” he protested, unlocking the door.

“What, you think you can do it better, Dick?” The nickname slipped from your lips with a giggle and Whiskey chuckled darkly.

A few steps into his apartment, Whiskey grabbed at your ass before unceremoniously dropping you to the bed.

“Let me show you how it’s really done,” he chuckled darkly, toeing out of his boots before joining you on the bed.

You scrambled to pull yours off before his lips found your neck, Whiskey leaning over you. His knee nudged your thighs apart once more, and you let out a moan as he sucked a dark, angry hickey into the sensitive skin of your neck. You grabbed at the back of his shirt, grinding down on his knee while he moved to the spot where your neck and shoulder met, leaving yet another mark.

“D’you know how often I’ve thought of -” you started, gasping as he bit down a bit harder than before.

“Of what, princess?” Whiskey chuckled, pressing soft, gentle kisses into the irritated skin. “Whiskey dick?”

You laughed, sliding one hand down towards his ass, grabbing a handful. “Yeah, that.”

Whiskey, in turn, pressed himself on top of you, grinding his hips into your thigh. You felt how hard he was and smirked, the hand on his ass moving to cup at him through the tight material of his jeans.

“Fuck,” he cursed into your collarbone, one hand reaching behind to grab his wallet. As he sat up, you palmed at him through the jeans, watching as he pulled a condom from a spot in his wallet. He held the wrapper between his teeth as he watched you palm at his contained erection, the friction unbearable with how hard he was.

“Yes, sir,” you chuckled, leaning up on your elbows.

Whatever hesitation Whiskey thought lingered in the air was gone as he dove back down towards you. He pulled the condom from his teeth and tossed it onto one of the pillows further up on the bed, much more interested in getting you undressed at the moment. You whined as he pressed a knee to your crotch, squirming at the pressure it presented to your clit.

Whiskey chuckled as he snaked both hands underneath your shoulders, using the momentum of rolling to pull you on top of him. You shifted so you were straddling him instead, grinding down on his cock, which elicited in a long moan escaping him.

“Shit --” he cursed, his hands finding purchase at your hips.

You giggled and pressed your hands to his chest, leaning slightly as you rolled your hips again. Whiskey groaned beneath you before he slid his hands under the hem of your shirt, pushing the material up and eventually over your head. He pulled you towards him, lips crashing against each other as your teeth bumped and clicked, the kiss heated and heavy. One hand rested at the back of your head while the other was at your hips, rocking you against him.

As you pulled back to breathe for a moment, you chuckled, noticing how Whiskey was fixated on your lips.

“Was this worth having me call you Dick?” you asked, breathy and light as you leaned back in for another kiss.

“Princess, you can call me Dick as much as you’d like if you keep this up,” he chuckled, leaning in for another heated kissed, pulling at your lips with his teeth.

You let out a whine, rolling your hips against his again at the taste of blood. (His? Yours?) Whiskey smirked as his hands slid towards your bra, pulling the hooks apart to let the garment slide down your arms.

You sat up against him and flung the bra off in a direction you didn’t care about, and suddenly Whiskey had you pinned under him. You giggled as he pressed gentle kisses down your jawline and neck, over the hickeys that were flaring from before. But when he met the fresh skin of your breast and chest, he smirked before leaving a trail of marks, some darker than others, down towards your nipple.

“Hey --” you whined, whatever words in your throat gone as he sucked on your nipple, the sensation overwhelming.

With a soft ‘pop’ he pulled back, your nipple hard and pointed. You were squirming underneath him, your jeans not giving you nearly enough friction as before, no longer able to grind down on him.

You were effectively marked up now, from the bottom of your left ear all the way down to your left breast. Whiskey grinned at his handiwork as he sat up for a moment, pulling his shirt from over his head. You opened your mouth to comment, but again, he left you wordless as you took in his well-defined chest. You reached up to run a hand over the muscles but Whiskey took it in his own again, pressing kisses against your fingers, palm, and the inside of your wrist. His eyes were heavy with lust as he looked down at you, a chill running down your spine.

He let go of your hand to unbutton your jeans, pulling them down your hips. You shimmied to help, leaning up on your elbows. The pants were tossed to the floor in a moment as Whiskey sat back on his heels, his lip caught between his teeth as he took a long, hard look at you in front of him.

Your chest heaved, causing your breasts to bounce slightly with the rise and fall of your breathing and the beating of your chest. You didn’t think that the pair of purple, lace underwear would be the one you’d be getting lucky in, but they certainly were.

Whiskey brushed his fingers against the material, over the hood of your clit, and watched as you sucked in a breath. They were practically soaked through, and your clit was throbbing at the gentle touch. A thick finger pushed aside the fabric covering your cunt and he let out a loud sigh, feeling how incredibly wet you were.

“Fuckin’ hell, princess,” he groaned, pressing a finger to your entrance, “why didn’t you start callin’ me Dick earlier.”

You chucked, but it soon turned into a moan as his finger entered you, and soon a second one was pumping in and out of you. You desperately wanted him to fill you, so you reached an arm up and felt for the condom wrapper that was tossed onto the pillows.

Whiskey chuckled at your eagerness as he pulled his fingers out, sucking the wetness from them while you watched, wide-eyed.

You wrapped a leg around him and attempted to flip positions; Whiskey played along, allowing himself to be under you. Once successfully flipped, and the condom in your grasp, you pressed kisses down his bare chest - soft, gentle ones - until you made it to where his pants rest against his hips. Holding the condom wrapper between your teeth, you made quick work of his pants and boxer briefs, practically ripping the clothing off him and throwing it to the floor.

Whiskey chuckled in amusement until it turned into a choked noise, the feeling of your cool hands against his cock shocking him.  One hand grabbed at the sheets while the other pushed his hair back, watching your hand grip his cock and pump at unbearable pace, the other cupping his balls. He unclenched the fist he had made in the sheets to pluck the condom wrapper from between your lips.

“What do you say we --” he chokes out as you pumped from base to tip, “fuck.”

You chuckle as Whiskey lets out a groan, but you pull your hands away before you drive him too close to the edge. He laughed, too, as you leaned over him to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Yes please,” you murmur in response, immediately pulling back.

In a flash, the lace panties you were wearing found their place on the floor among the other clothing articles, and Whiskey slipped the condom over the length of his erection, firmly to the base.

His hands beckoned you towards him, and you straddled his hips after taking his hand. The tip of his cock teased at your entrance and you whined, straightening yourself up. Whiskey’s other hand brushed against your thigh as you made eye contact, a nod of his head spurring you on.

The two of you groaned in unison as you lowered yourself onto his cock, the feeling of fullness coming quickly. Whiskey rolled his hips up to meet yours and you whined; this was better than any other dildo or dick you rode in the past.

“How’s that for whiskey dick, princess,” he grunted, sitting up so that you were still riding him.  His hands brushed against your neck, wrapping around your back as he went to the other side, this time biting into your shoulder and sucking an large mark into the skin.

You carded your hands through his hair in response as you let out a low moan, grinding into his lap. Your lips fell open into a small ‘o’ and Whiskey grinned as he thrust into you. You were falling apart in his arms and he was loving it - you were too.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to come close to climax, as the teasing had brought both of you close to the edge. Sweat beaded your forehead as Whiskey rest his head against your shoulder, his breathing as short as your own. He bared his teeth into the flesh of your right breast, sucking a mark into the supple skin. One hand snaked into your hair as you held your breath, nearing the brink of orgasm, while the other sat at your hip, gripping tightly. Whiskey felt it, as well as his own, as you clenched around him.

“F-Fuck,” you grunted, gasping for air as you came.

Whiskey was not far behind as he groaned into your throat, grasping a fistful of hair and your hip tightly until he was soft again. He pressed you gently into the bed, leaning you back as he removed himself, the condom full of his release.

“You look like hell, princess,” he chuckled as he removed the condom, teetering off the bed as he grabbed a tissue from the nightstand to wrap it up.

You were a complete mess - your hair was everywhere, and there were many, many hickeys littered across your neck and chest. It was going to be quite the challenge to cover all of them for work, but you couldn’t really complain. Your breathing was sharp as you tried to catch your breath from it all, and in the few moments you had closed your eyes to collect yourself, Whiskey had tiptoed off to get a wet washcloth. You had nearly fallen asleep when he returned, your chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.

“Hey, hey, not yet,” Whiskey chuckled, dipping the warm cloth between your legs. He had thrown a new pair of boxer briefs on in the process of getting the washcloth, you noticed as he wiped away the sticky residue left on the inside of your thighs. “Not yet princess. Let me give you a shirt to sleep in, at least,” he chuckled as you curled into the pillow, absolutely fucked-out. His hand brushed some of the wild hair away from your face before moving to find a shirt suitable for you.

 

When you woke the next morning with Whiskey’s arm wrapped around your waist, you smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Your phone, you found out during breakfast, had exploded with messages from your team asking you about your night. There was one specific text from Vodka, who wanted to meet you in the training room early Monday morning for payback after he lost his bet; Whiskey responded with a selfie of the two of you holding middle fingers to the camera. Vodka immediately forwarded the message to everyone else, and you got another flurry of messages asking if you were okay after seeing the status of your neck. Whiskey plucked your phone from your hands with a smirk and slipped it into his sweatpants, despite your objection.

“Hey!” you frowned, reaching across the small table at him.

“Let’s let them stew over it, it’ll be more fun that way,” Whiskey chuckled, taking the opportunity to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“ _Dick_ ,” you murmured into the kiss, causing him to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I got a little carried away, whoops.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
